


Top Five

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 15:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: What are Mulder and Scully's top five anything? This is NSFW and written for the Unsexy Files episode, The List.





	Top Five

Neech had written a list of people he wanted dead. She’s written a grocery list. The case has kept them out of town for too long, they’re hungry and tired, a dangerous combination. She leans her mouth into her knuckles and watches Mulder eat his burger. He’s a pig when it comes to junk food but it’s kind of a turn-on to watch him chow down with abandon. She doodles on the paper, thinking about another list she could write now but it wouldn’t include the names of people she would take out. It would…no, she can’t go there.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, spitting sesame seeds over the formica table-top.

“Nothing,” she says. “I was just thinking about lists.”

He grins and she wants to pull the lettuce from out between his teeth. “I’ve got a list,” he says, “top five best worst foods.”

She shakes her head. “What do you mean?”

“What are the foods you like to eat but you know they’re bad for you. I mean, you put on this show about only eating salad but I’ve seen you eat pepperoni pizza like it’s life support. What are your top five bad food loves?”

“Well, you’re right, I do love pizza. And ribs and deep-fried prawn wantons and those chocolate bars with the honeycomb centres and,” she says, dropping her pen, “I confess to an abiding love of PBJ sandwiches on the cheapest white bread. And they have to have salted butter in them too and cut into triangles not squares.”

Mulder nods and stuffs a bunch of fries in his mouth. “That’s pretty good, Scully. Ask me something.”

“Okay, I’ll play,” she says, sipping her coffee and wishing there was a whiskey chaser to get her more in the mood. “What are your top five movies?”

“Porn or otherwise?” His smile emits the same overbearing wattage as the neon light overhead.

“Either.” This is the Mulder she finds the most attractive. The humour, the teasing, the grinning, he turns from troubled and burdened brother-looking-for-sister agent to a guy she’d fuck in a heartbeat. If only he didn’t see her as the logical and sceptical partner-who-should-help-him-find-the-truth. Top five ways to see the real me, Mulder. Woman, woman, woman, woman, woman.

He lists his movies and they could all either be porn titles or sci-fi B-movies, she’s not sure. “Your turn. Top five hunks that turn shy and pure, Dana Duguid into the Enigmatic Dr Scully, scalpel-wielding, slicer and dicer extraordinaire.”

She kicks him under the table. “Dana Duguid, jeez, thanks Mulder. Way to make a girl feel good about herself. Is that how you see me? Pure as the driven snow? Prudish?”

His palms rise in surrender. “You’ve shot me before, so no, I know your potency, Scully. I just want to know who floats your boat. Tom Cruise? Richard Gere?”

The waitress picks up their plates and asks if they want more coffee. “I think I need to head home.”

His sigh is laden with disappointment. “We were just getting to the fun stuff. How about a drink? The bar next door is pretty quiet.”

She frowns. Is he humouring her? “Are you asking me on a date? Just to hear which Hollywood hunks I’m attracted to?”

He puts her jacket around her shoulders but it’s his body that warms her. “There are worse reasons to ask a girl on a date, aren’t there? Besides, I really want to know and I really want to work out why you like them. It’s the psychologist in me.”

Two shots later and they’re still arguing about whether Gerard Depardieu is handsome.

“His nose is big,” he says, knocking back his third wiping those glorious lips with the back of his hand. They seem softer, plusher, wetter.

“There’s no such thing as too big, Mulder.” She’s on the way to slurring her words. They haven’t eaten. But she’s enjoying the moment.

“And Jeff Goldblum? Really?” He seems genuinely upset at the prospect and she orders another shot.

Her laugh comes out a little louder than she intends, like a sharp snort and she presses the heel of her hand into her chin, resting her fingers over her mouth. “He’s so sexy it hurts.”

Mulder leans in and his whiskers catch in her hair so that they’re stuck together. She wants to laugh again but his lips are almost touching her ear and she shuts off the shiver that threatens to run through her. “Did you just say sexy, Dr Scully?”

“I did,” she says and her voice is reed thin.

“Say it again.”

“Sexy.” She twists to face him, their faces just inches apart. In her periphery, she sees the bartender, rubbing the inside of a glass, round and round, in and out. “So sexy it hurts.”

“What are your top five body parts, Scully?”

“I think it’s my turn to ask you something, Mulder.” She wobbles on the stool and her hand rests on his knee. They both look down. His legs bounces and she presses harder, trying to get him to stop. “Top five bad habits?”

“Apart from leg bouncing, asking inappropriate questions, drinking shots too quickly, leaving piles of sunflower seeds in all sorts of places and being a moody, brooding, self-absorbed bastard of a partner, you mean?” He doesn’t wait for her to nod. “Probably, being impulsive, sleeping on the couch, wearing the same tee-shirt two days in a row, forgetting to shave and fantasising about my beautiful-but-off-limits-partner?”

She rolls her lips together and puts her other hand on his other knee. He lets out a shocked laugh. “Did I just say that out loud?”

“I think the whiskey did. Maybe it’s time to go home.” The bartender shakes his head and sets the clean glass on the counter.

“I’ll drive you,” Mulder says, swinging his jacket over his shoulder.

“I think not. You and I are both way over the legal limit. Let’s share a cab.”

“I can live with that.” His hand burns on her lower back. “And we can continue this game in the back seat. Top five places to have sex in public?”

The cool night air hits her as they push open the door. “I’m guessing that in the back of a cab is number one on your list, Mulder?”

“I’m hoping it’s yours too, Scully.”

His teeth nip at her neck as they wait on the sidewalk. She’s swathed in his arms and his jacket and the promise of something illicit. With liquor fizzing in her blood, she’s weak. She knows it’s not the right thing to do but when his lips suckle at her skin and his hands find her nipples through her blouse, she doesn’t care. Top five turn-ons definitely include Fox Mulder’s long, graceful piano-fingers tormenting her in the cold night air with the promise of how he might play her later.

Inside the car it’s hot, air blasting out and steaming the windows. In the fog he draws a heart and cuts it in half with an arrow. She leans across him and adds their initials. He presses his hand into the back of her head, kneading her neck and she slinks down, nuzzling his groin and feeling him grow against her cheek. There’s a strangled noise that escapes his lips, somewhere between surprise and defeat and he shifts his hips up. She pushes back mouthing him through his pants and they begin a rhythm that builds and builds. If someone had told her at college she’d be dry-humping her FBI partner using her face, she’d have laughed out loud. But this, this is so them.

As the car rolls around a corner, Mulder’s hand slips in front of her mouth and he unzips his pants tooth-by-tooth. Her cheek slips across the sheen of his boxers but she finds her way back to where he’s straining against the silk.

“Going anywhere special tonight, sir?” The cab driver’s voice swirls around the edges of her consciousness.

Mulder’s chest bubbles with a laugh as he answers. “I’d say so.”

“Your lady-friend okay, sir?”

She takes the waistband of his boxers in her teeth and pulls down, trying to keep as quiet as possible.

“She’s fine. It’s been a big couple of days.”

“Too much work? That’s no good,” the cab driver says. “Everyone needs more fun.”

There’s a drop of pre-cum pearling at the head of Mulder’s cock and she tastes it, flicking it onto her tongue as he squirms in his seat. His fingers are wound in her hair and she swirls her tongue around the end, tracing delicate figures of eight as his stomach pushes in and out with his erratic breathing. The cab driver is droning on about current affairs and Mulder murmurs every now and again. She can feel the exertion of the muscles in his butt as he lifts up and down trying to fill her mouth. Behind her eyes she feels the brightness of streetlights, in her ears she hears the click-click of the blinkers, in her chest the reverberations of the engine purr. They’re moving, going somewhere. But in her centre she is still. She is hot, wet and throbbing. Mulder’s cock is slick with her spit. He tastes of salt, spice, treasure, whiskey and heaven.

She doesn’t remember walking through his apartment door. She does remember thinking the glow of the fish tank added some extra sensory element of allure to his living room, something so totally Mulder that she’s already unbuttoning her blouse and watching the soft green shadows flare over her skin. He’s silhouetted in the same light and his profile is maddening, that nose, that jawline, those lips. He’s her top five everything and his arm snakes around her naked waist, helping her out of her skirt.

“You give good head, Scully.”

“I know,” she says, tiptoeing to capture his mouth in hers. His trousers slide to the floor and he steps out, moving her towards the couch. She tugs at his boxers and he wiggles out of them, freeing her of her panties in the same dance. Her bra is the last to go. She watches as he pushes the cups up and gazes at her.

“You look like you’ve never seen breasts before,” she says.

“I feel like I haven’t. Like a breast virgin. Shiny and new. You’re beautiful, Scully. I can’t…are you sure? This is more than a game now…”

Mulder is a mystery, he’s all brooding literary hero, chiselled sculpture, mythological god and unearthed masterpiece. His body is contours and planes and valleys to explore. Yet he’s soft and humble, romantic, holding her hand and kissing the skin inside her wrist and his eyes are asking permission to…love her, not fuck her.

“I know,” she says again. “I think we’ve always known this is more than a game, haven’t we?”

There’s a small space inside her that she opens up every now and again. Mulder fits it perfectly. His mouth on her breast, sucking, nipping, pulling her nipple, leaving strawberry marks across her skin. His fingers thrumming against her mons, his thumb pressing her clit, sending blinding sparks across the backs of her eyes. His guttural moans in her ear, telling her how he feels. She grasps his cock and slides her hand back and forth matching the rhythm of his finger inside her.

Soon, she is astride him, knees dipping into the black leather, breasts crushed against his chest. His thumbs dig into her hipbones as he bucks up, trying to find a place to settle. She lifts herself and guides him inside, lowering herself inch by delicious inch, friction burning so that her fingernails dig into his shoulders and he gasps.

“Top five moments in my life, Scully,” he says, smiling up at her with an honesty so bright in his eyes that it makes her want to cry. “This. Is. Number. One.”

She tilts her pelvis forward and back, relishing the feel of him inside her. He pins her to him, not allowing her to rise and fall. It’s all about the grinding, the bone on bone movement. There’s a primal twinge of possession in her that builds. She is filled with him, physically and emotionally.

“God, Mulder. I’m going to come.” She’s taken by surprise at the speed with which she’s reached the pinnacle but just as her muscles contract and she expects the high, he pulls her off and she’s on her back with the cold couch under her and she’s bereft.

“No way, Scully. Not yet.”

The feeling inside her diminishes and she takes her lower lip in between her teeth, biting away the disappointment. Mulder hovers over her and takes his time drawing patterns with his tongue over her breasts and stomach.

“Did you just lick a heart on me?” she asks, biting the side of her own wrist.

“And our initials,” he says, smiling up at her. His nose nudges her navel and his chin rests on her mons. There’s a delicious pressure rising and she hooks her feet over his shoulders. Knowing what’s coming is enough to cause a fresh ooze of arousal between her legs. “You smell good, Scully.” He takes a long, slow swipe from clit to perineum and she sinks her teeth into her skin. There are marks on his ceiling and in her clouded mind’s eye she sees stars and the moon, the infinite possibilities of the sky.

He suckles and licks and nips and the wet sound of his mouth on her cunt is too much. His tongue is flat against her now and she chances a look down at him. He meets her eyes and there’s an intensity that flares in his gaze and in her veins. He smiles and she feels it in the way she’s stretched with him. He cups her ass and gently separates her. He’s still fucking her with his face as he runs his fingers in the groove of her buttocks, pausing at her anus and pressing his thumb there lightly, gauging her reaction, testing her limits. Unable to speak, she grabs a fist of his hair and he groans inside her sending reverberations down her legs so that her toes clench. He pushes harder, circling and she bucks into him, nose against clit. Her moan is primal, ripping from her chest. She finds a nipple and twirls it as Mulder continues his work, pleasure like a whirlwind twisting from inside until it tears through her body and rushes her headlong into her climax. Mulder stays still, letting her body shudder around him until she’s calm.

When she opens her eyes, he’s not smiling. His face is slick, his lips slightly open so that his tongue is visible. She sits up and draws him forward, kissing his skin and letting the briny oil of herself coat her own tongue.

“You give good head, Mulder,” she whispers against his ear and lets the hairs there stick to her mouth.

“I gathered that,” he says and edges forward, urging her down and under him. She hooks her feet over his shoulders and admires the flex of his forearms as he dips his pelvis forward to bring the tip of his cock to her still throbbing cunt. Using her leverage, she tips her hips up to meet him and he shudders as he slides in, her name rasping off his tongue with such desire that she can taste it, smell it.

“Fuck, Scully.” He’s thrusting, arms quivering with effort, shoulders tight so that his clavicles protrude and she has an urge to run her tongue along the ridge. She rises to meet his every move and the exquisite pleasure-pain of his cock hitting her cervix takes over. His thighs flex under her and he’s deeper and deeper, balls hard against her ass. With one hand on his tight upper arm, she reaches under her and takes his sac in her hand, rolling as he thrusts harder. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She feels his sharp heat coming in violent spurts and she stills, slumping onto the couch as he relaxes. He leans forward, covering her, panting. The tang of his sweat fills her nostrils and she strokes the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Jesus, Scully,” he says after a while.

“You liked?”

“I think I said fuck a few times, that’s a pretty good indicator that I liked,” he says, rolling off, so that they’re trapped side by side on the too-narrow couch.

“You said it five times, Mulder. Is that a sign?”

“You don’t believe in portents or omens, Dr Scully.”

“True,” she says, twirling his chest hair in her fingers. She’s drowsy, her eyes heavy, cloistered against him, warm. “You know what I do believe, Mulder?”

“What’s that,” he whispers against the side of her face, where his lips are still sticky with her.

“That on any list, you’re number one.”

He snuffles quietly and pulls her close.

“And number two, three, four and five.”


End file.
